


Miami

by elevenoclock



Category: Burn Notice, Inception (2010)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur absolutely despises Miami.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miami

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Session 2, Round 3 of The New Pub. The theme was "cities", and this piece was written in 20 minutes for the prompt "Miami, FL". Join us every Saturday afternoon at http://thenewpub.livejournal.com!

[Original Link](http://thenewpub.livejournal.com/3632.html)

Arthur absolutely _despises_ Miami.

He's been blown up (Madrid), shot (Rio), come out of fights with broken bones (Los Angeles), and fled cities with nothing but the clothes on his back and his PASIV in hand (Paris, Barcelona, Moscow, Pyongyang... he could continue, but it would take too long).

But none of these cities have memories so bad as to equal Miami.

The heat and humidity are the first to hit him as the door to his charter jet opens and a flight attendant offers him his jacket as he walks down the steps. The heat is visible, reflecting off the tarmac. It's only ten in the morning.

He passes through customs easily, and the agent doesn't look twice at his passport, an Eames Original that he'd obtained after winning a round of poker (along with two thousand dollars in slightly rumpled bills, a fake Rolex, and a package of spicy wasabi gum that Eames had obtained in Tokyo two months before and was too stale to even try to chew).

The second thing to hit him is the slightly familiar older man standing just outside the passenger area. There's a sign in his hands, the word ARTHUR printed clearly. He's watching Arthur over the top of a pair of sunglasses, so Arthur doesn't even pretend not to see him.

"I didn't hire a car," he says easily.

"Someone arranged one for you," the man says. The voice gives him away.

"Sam," Arthur nods. "It's been a while. You look... different."

Sam scowls at him. "And you look the exact same. Goddamned spies."

"Former spy," Arthur corrects. "So if you know that I'm here, does that meen the Feds do, too?"

Sam motions with the sign, guiding them to the car park. "I don't work for the Feds anymore," he says.

"Who _do_ you work for, then?"

And that's when the third thing hits him. Specifically, a fist to the face, moving so quickly that Arthur barely has time to react. He ducks, a split second too late, and the blow glances off of his cheekbone, knocking him to the ground. He rolls with it, back on his feet a moment later. He wishes he had a gun, but it wasn't worth the risk to sneak it on the plane with him.

It takes a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes. He holds his fighting pose for another moment, then drops it.

"Westen," he says, warily.

"Arthur." Michael Westen tucks his hands into his pants pockets, leans back easily against a car. "It's been a long time."

"Five years," Arthur agrees.

"I heard about that job you pulled on the Australian guy. Nice work."

Arthur glances around. "Do you think we can get out of the airport parking lot before we discuss our accomplishments over the last half decade?" he asks.

Westen smiles easily. "Sure," he says. "Sam, we'll meet you back at the apartment?"

"Sure, Mikey... but be careful with this one. He looks like he's going to lunge and slit your throat the second your back is turned."

Arthur smiles at Sam, showing teeth.

Sam's hand twitches for the gun in his waistband, but he backs off and heads to his own car, looking back only once.

"So," Arthur says.

"So," Michael agrees.

It's hot, humid, and Arthur's ten thousand dollar suit has been ruined from his fall to the parking lot pavement. He has a headache forming behind his eyelids, and Michael _fucking_ Westen is watching him with a look that he hasn't seen in five years.

"So," Michael repeats. "Let's go somewhere to catch up. You have a hotel somewhere?"

"You already know that I do," Arthur says. "And why should I take the man who sucker-punched me in the face back to my hotel room?"

Westen's hand reaches out, this time slow enough that Arthur can track it. He brushes a finger across the bruise that's starting to rise to the skin. "You did deserve that," he says.

Arthur can't really disagree with that.

"And besides, I'll make it up to you."

Westen grins, and Arthur realizes that maybe he doesn't despise Miami quite as much as he thought he did.


End file.
